They had almost arrived; Alex started looking for somewhere to park.
‘Please, Fredrika, don’t waste your time on this.’
But Fredrika had no intention of giving up now.
‘Tell me who I need to speak to.’
Another sigh, then he gave her a name.
The call was answered almost immediately. Fredrika explained her question as Alex reversed into a space that felt at least half a metre too small.
‘We thought about that, of course,’ their colleague said, ‘but we got nowhere. The name of the delivery firm wasn’t on the bag, and the secretary couldn’t remember whether the person who handed it over was wearing any kind of logo.’
‘Shit,’ Fredrika said.
Her colleague laughed.
‘We said much the same thing.’
‘Have you tried ringing around different firms?’ Fredrika said. ‘They ought to remember if they were asked to deliver a plant in a bag with a big face drawn on it.’
‘We called a dozen or so, but it was no good. The only thing we had to go on was that according to the secretary, the girl who brought the plant in didn’t speak Swedish.’
Fredrika froze. Alex was already out of the car.
‘She didn’t speak Swedish?’
‘No, but why would she need to? She only had to hand over a plant.’
But Fredrika didn’t agree.
‘Send a sketch artist over to the secretary,’ she said. ‘Right now.’
‘But why?’ Her colleague was taken aback.
‘Because I think the girl who delivered the plant was the one who lay on the roof and shot Josephine.’
The feeling that he had hit upon something vital was intoxicating. Peder Rydh had known he was right all along, but now he thought he could prove it.
I need to speak to Alex about this.
He just wanted to check one more thing.
His hands were shaking slightly as he dug out a list of contact details for the witnesses the security team had interviewed. He called one of the parents, the father of a three-year-old boy.
The man sounded wary when Peder had explained who he was and why he was calling.
‘I’ve already spoken to the police and the community’s security team. What’s this about?’
‘I wonder if you could help me understand a couple of things,’ Peder said. ‘For example, what was Josephine doing outside? Why did she leave the school building?’
The man didn’t say anything for a moment, presumably because he was trying to recall.
‘There was nothing strange about it,’ he said eventually. ‘Three parents had arrived at the same time; everything was just the way it always was. We went inside and collected our children, helped them to put on their outdoor clothes and said goodbye to the staff and the children who were still there. Just as we got outside Josephine came after us. She said that one of the children, a little girl called Lova, was wearing the wrong hat. That caused a bit of a discussion, because Lova flatly refused to give it back. Josephine came out to retrieve the hat, that’s all there was to it.’
So chance had brought Josephine outside, and led to her death.
‘I believe the last thing Josephine did was to call a child who was still inside,’ Peder said.
‘That’s right. She wanted the little girl who owned the hat to come to the door and bring Lova’s hat, because of course it was still sitting on the shelf.’
Peder’s brain was working overtime, desperate for more details. Every scrap of the instinct that had once made him a skilled investigator was screaming at him to keep digging. Because there was more to come.
‘Was there something special about this particular hat? Why did it cause such a fuss?’
God knows, small children didn’t need a sensible reason to start squabbling, but Peder still felt he had to ask.
‘Actually, it wasn’t just any old hat,’ the parent said. ‘It was a big, red, hand-knitted hat.’
Peder found it difficult to understand why a big red hand-knitted hat would be so popular.
‘One of those that looks like a berry?’
‘Not at all – it was more like a big red ball. Several of the parents laughed when Polly turned up in it; none of us could have produced anything like it, but Carmen is very talented.’
Carmen?
‘I’m sorry? Carmen?’ Peder said. ‘Carmen Eisenberg? Simon’s mother?’
‘That’s right – Polly is Simon’s little sister. Or rather she was… Well, you know what I mean.’
The man’s voice broke with emotion.
And suddenly Peder understood.
He was so agitated that it was all he could do to stop himself shouting down the phone.
‘So what you’re saying is that when Josephine was shot, there was a child standing next to her wearing a big red hat? A hat that actually belonged to Polly Eisenberg?’
‘Yes.’
‘But Polly wasn’t picked up at the same time?’
‘She should have been, but Carmen was obviously running late.’
She should have been.
Polly Eisenberg, Simon’s little sister, should have been going home at the time when her teacher was shot. She should have been outside the school just after three o’clock, wearing her big red hat.
Peder closed his eyes, thought about the snow that had fallen that day, and the fact that it was already starting to get dark. He thought about the distance from the roof to the school entrance.
And he thought that a big red hat would have been the perfect target.
The investigation was beginning to resemble the tracks in the snow out on Lovön: the leads appeared to be going around in circles, taking the team in all directions. However, as Alex Recht had already established, most led in the same direction.
To Israel.
‘We have a man who’s travelled from Israel to Stockholm to recruit a head of security for the Solomon Community,’ he said to Fredrika, as they walked from the car to the Eisenbergs’ apartment. ‘A man who is either a bloody good investigator, or who is disturbingly well informed about our inquiries. At the same time, we have someone calling himself the Lion who has been exchanging messages with Simon and Abraham. From Israel. He claims his name is Zalman.’
‘Efraim Kiel could have sent those messages, if we’re looking at him as a possible suspect,’ Fredrika said. ‘The correspondence took place before he came to Sweden.’
They had reached the apartment block.
‘The Lion, whoever he is, could be the person who picked up the boys,’ Fredrika said.
‘I know.’
‘In which case he – or she – must have rented or borrowed a car. Or driven here from Jerusalem, which seems highly unlikely, wouldn’t you say?’
She attempted a wan smile, which Alex returned.
‘I think that sounds like great fun,’ he said. ‘Driving to Jerusalem. Perhaps Diana and I should give it a go some time.’
‘Have you heard anything from Eden yet?’
Alex’s expression grew serious.
‘No, she said she’d be in touch when she had something to tell me. If she had something to tell me.’
He held the door open for Fredrika. If his daughter had seen him, she would have given him a long lecture about why opening a door for a woman constituted oppression. Alex couldn’t give a damn. Opening the door for a woman was just like closing the door when you went to the toilet; it was just something you did.
‘There are several things we need to ask Carmen and Gideon about,’ he said as they went up the stairs. ‘The Paper Boy and the paper bags are our number one priority. The Lion, and why they left Israel ten years ago, are also important. I can’t shake off the feeling that’s where the answer lies – or part of it, at least.’
‘We also need to ask them about Efraim Kiel,’ Fredrika pointed out.
Once again they were standing outside the Eisenberg family’s door. Alex was just about to press the doorbell when his mobile rang. It was Peder Rydh. After listening to him for less than a minute, Alex signalled to Fredrika to follow him back down the stairs.